Saturday
by Elsie Bubbles
Summary: Sherlock and Molly know each others' habits, but not remembering the days of the week and picking locks earns Sherlock a rather unexpected sight.


I don't own characters, setting, etc. Just the arrangement of the words.

* * *

Of course he knew Molly indulged herself, he had lived with her for a year, after all. Neither Sherlock nor Molly had any secrets anymore. Though they never spoke of them, both were aware of each and every habit, cycle, and routine the other possessed and followed.

Molly had learned that Sherlock ate only for fuel, so every three days she had prepared a proper supper for him. Though she knew he would eat occasionally with tea, the large meal was Sherlock's only true source of nutrition. From there she learned his sleep cycle and habits, among other things.

While Sherlock's routines were more relaxed, he knew Molly's depended on her work schedule. Monday afternoons she went out to do the week's shopping, every morning she went for a jog before work, she washed her hair every other day. He also knew that she denied herself all week until Saturday nights when, after a bath, she would lock herself in her bedroom and use whatever toy she was favouring until she squealed her release and later fell asleep.

Sherlock, for reasons unknown to even himself, did not delete his knowledge of Molly's routines. It wasn't something at the forefront of his mind, but every Wednesday evening, Sherlock knew Molly was likely treating herself to a film at home, a glass of wine, and painting her toenails. Even more, he knew it was probably a pink or sparkly colour. This knowledge, however, was only useful if he ever bothered to learn what day of the week it was.

Why would such a thing matter? If Sherlock were going to do something, he was going to do it, regardless of the day's label. It was this omission that caused Sherlock to walk in on a certain Molly Hooper one Saturday evening.

* * *

Sherlock had been living back at Baker Street for two months. John had mostly forgiven Sherlock, but they often found themselves arguing over something. In occasions such as these, Sherlock would attempt to diffuse the situation by heading to Molly's.

Standing outside Molly's flat, Sherlock could hear the television, volume up too high, as per Molly's preference. As he usually did, Sherlock picked the lock and pushed the door open. The sight he was met with caused him to freeze in place.

Molly sat naked in her favourite chair, feet on the edge of the coffee table with her eyes closed tightly as she pleasured herself, a soft vibrating sound filled Sherlock's ears. Sherlock stood stock-still for a moment, mesmerised by the sight in front of him. He watched as Molly's left hand came up to pinch her nipple, and as her back arched in pleasure, Sherlock realised this was something he should definitely should not be seeing.

Quickly, but quietly, Sherlock backed out of the flat and closed the door firmly. He walked swiftly down the corridor and into the stairwell where he stopped and took a deep breath. There was a tightness in his trousers, and his brain was going into overdrive, first telling him to go back so he could assist Molly with her pleasure; then to wait and go back when Molly was dressed and he could pretend he hadn't seen a thing; or he could go back to Baker Street where he could sort himself out, then attempt to delete the memory of Molly's soft sigh as she arched back in pleasure…

A strangled noise came from the back of Sherlock's throat and he shook his head as if hat would clear his mind. His aching groin told him something had to be done, and ignoring it was not an option. Straightening himself, Sherlock headed down the stairs and out into the street where he hailed a taxi to Baker Street.

Fifteen excruciating minutes later saw Sherlock Holmes racing past John and into the bathroom. He distantly heard a muttered "What fresh hell?" from John, but ignored it. John's confusion could wait; Sherlock's current condition could not.

Inside, Sherlock was stripping his clothes with haste as the shower ran – he had decided in the cab that the shower would be cleaner and more discrete. Devoid of his clothing, Sherlock stepped into the shower, his hand already skimming down his body to grasp his cock. Under the spray of the shower, images of Molly ran through his mind, a compilation of memories of their year of shared living, images of what he had witnessed tonight, and fantasies his brain was conjuring without his permission. Sherlock's eyes were clenched shut as his hand worked frantically; he knew he was close to finish. As one particularly raunchy scenario where a fantasy Molly's lips wrapped around his cock passed through his mind, Sherlock spent himself with a loud groan.

Sherlock panted as he lazily cleaned himself. He stood in the shower longer than necessary, trying to come back to himself. Finally, as the water began to run cold, Sherlock cleared his throat and shut off the water. He toweled off, then wrapped a towel around his waist, leaving his coat and clothes on the floor.

As he exited the bathroom, John was still sitting in the lounge, "Are you okay, Sherlock? I heard you growl. And you were in there for a while."

Sherlock feigned nonchalance and replied, "Shampoo in my eyes. It took a while to get it out." He strolled to his bedroom as John eyed him suspiciously.

Once safe in the confines of his bedroom, Sherlock dressed in pyjamas and threw himself onto his bed. He was determined that he would erase the images of Molly so he could once more infiltrate her life, worry free.

* * *

One hour later, a very frustrated Sherlock was sitting upright on his bed, addressing his own anatomy, "No."

Though he knew logically that speaking his erection would achieve neither the goal he had in mind, nor the more enjoyable alternative, Sherlock continued his litany of 'No's' until there came a knock on his bedroom door.

"What?!" Sherlock demanded distractedly.

"Sherlock, can I come in?" John asked through the door.

Sherlock hesitated a moment before adjusting his stance so his legs disguised his erection, "Yes, fine, come in," he answered.

John tentatively opened the door and continued through into the room. He eyed Sherlock's position, noting it was an odd arrangement for him, but decided to ignore it, "Listen, Sherlock. I don't know what is going on with you tonight, but if it's something serious, or something I could help you with, I'd hope you still trust me enough to allow me to help."

Sherlock pondered the statement, trying to imagine what would happen if he were to tell John exactly what happened. '_Well John, after our argument I went to Molly's, picked her lock, and walked in on her masturbating. I left without her noticing, came back here and masturbated in the shower, and now, in trying to delete the information, my body has betrayed me again. How do you suggest I proceed?_' Sherlock suspected John would leave rather quickly without actually helping, so he decided to lie. He looked to John and shrugged indifferently, "Bored," he remarked.

John stared at Sherlock with a look of disbelief on his face, "Bored," he repeated, "You're moody and talking to yourself because you're bored?

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as John processed the information. Finally he sighed and moved to leave the room, "Better than shooting holes in the bloody wall, I guess."

As the door closed, Sherlock realised with relief that he no longer had an erection and sighed gladly. He stood and began pacing in his room, his brain pretending to make a decision that had already been made. Sighing in defeat, Sherlock moved to his closet to re-dress. He was going to Molly's.

* * *

This time when Sherlock came to the door of Molly's flat, he knocked. His hands clenched into a fist and unclenched several times before Molly opened the door.

"Sherlock?"

Molly opened the door wider to allow him entry, closing it again once he was inside, "You don't usually come around this late. Would you like some tea?"

Sherlock shook his head and moved to sit down. Molly's favourite chair, _the_ chair, was closer, but glancing at Molly, Sherlock moved to the sofa He caught Molly's raised eyebrow as she watched him, then sat down in the chair herself, resting her feet on the coffee table. Sherlock cleared his throat and straightened his back at the sight.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" Molly asked, concern washing across her face. She put her feet on the floor to lean closer to him.

Sherlock felt his face flush and he swallowed hard, "I didn't realise today was Saturday," he stated.

"Oh. Well… It is."

Sherlock shook his head before placing his face in his hands, "Yes, I'm aware."

Molly sounded confused, but he dared not look at her as she spoke, "Did you have plans for today that you missed?"

"No, but you did. Have plans, I mean."

Silence filled the room and Sherlock saw dimly from between his fingers Molly's legs slip under her body. He heard, rather than saw, Molly shift closer to him in her chair. Suddenly a familiar vibrating sound started near his left ear.

"You mean this kind of plan?"

Molly's voice sounded playful, mischievous, and definitely not angry. _She knew_.

Sherlock's head shot up from his hands to stare at Molly. She grinned and flicked off the vibrator, tossing it onto the coffee table.

"How did you - ?"

"John rang me to ask if you'd been 'round. He said you were acting particularly odd. I didn't know _then_, but when you showed up, the door was unlocked. You avoided this chair, avoided my eye, and you looked completely guilty!"

He looked at her, shock registering clearly on his face.

"I'm not angry," Molly continued, "I can't be. I know you pick my locks, I've never gotten angry with you over it. Not that that would stop you… But I could have done it in my bedroom, or the bathroom like a regular person, knowing what I know about you."

As Sherlock continued to stare at her, Molly bit her bottom lip sending a jolt down his body. He watched her stand, her hands playing with the hem of her shirt.

"I'm going to get some water while you sort out your brain," she commented before leaving the room.

Sherlock blinked several times before letting out a shaky breath. Molly figured him out, she deduced him. Not only that, but she wasn't angry. Molly Hooper deduced Sherlock Holmes, seconds after turning a vibrator near his ear which forced his brain to recall the sight of Molly arched back in what Sherlock could only described as pure bliss… Those new sides of Molly combined with unsure, sweet, lip-biting Molly forced Sherlock into a very strong state of arousal.

Molly entered Sherlock's peripheral vision again. He reached forward and picked up the abandoned vibrator, holding it out to Molly, "So, what is the function of this?"

Molly raised her eyebrows before sitting down next to Sherlock on the sofa, "It stimulates the clitoris," she answered plainly.

"I could do that," Sherlock replied softly.

Molly nodded slowly, "You could. But so could I."

Sherlock suddenly faced Molly, he noted her pupils were dilated, though he was sure his were as well. Molly grinned at him "So what did you do after you left my flat?"

Sherlock watched Molly lounge back against the sofa before answering, "I…" he swallowed thickly, "I debated what to do in the stairs… Decided to go to Baker Street to… Sort myself out and then figure out how to proceed."

"Were you in your bedroom?"

"The shower."

"What pushed you over the edge?" Molly asked, shifting closer to Sherlock.

"I… You, your mouth around my…" Sherlock trailed off.

"You fantasised about me?"

Sherlock nodded in response.

Suddenly, Molly crawled onto Sherlock's lap, her legs folded on either side of his lap. He could feel her warmth despite his heavy coat between her body and his. Molly's hands traced own his chest and came down to rest against his hips. Before she could lean in closer, Sherlock closed the distance between them and pressed a firm kiss to Molly's lips. His hands came to rest, one on her waist, the other cupping her face, keeping her mouth against his.

When they broke apart they were panting lightly. Sherlock grinned broadly, "Molly," he breathed, his hands rubbing up and down her back.

Molly giggled before moving to press a light kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Her hand drifted to his groin, palming his growing erection, causing him to groan.

"Let's take care of this, shall we?"

Sherlock nodded gratefully and wrapped his arms around Molly, adjusting so he could stand with her in his arms. Once he was standing, Molly's legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist as she kissed him briefly. Sherlock navigated his way to Molly's bedroom, where he deposited her on the bed before turning to close the door, "You never know who could pick your locks," he remarked.

Molly smirked at him and turned on the lamp beside her bed, gesturing to Sherlock to switch off the overhead light. Without the glaring overhead, the room was cast into a golden haze. Sherlock unbuttoned his heavy coat and discarded it on the floor, then toed off his shoes.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up to see Molly kneeling on the edge of the bed.

"Will this be your, you know, first time?"

"No," Sherlock answered carefully, "There were a few women. Each only lasted a night or two. That was, of course, a while ago."

Molly's expression lightened, "Good. I mean, it would be fine if it was your first but... You know."

As she spoke, Molly stood and crossed the short distance to him. The atmosphere seemed to change as Sherlock growled, feeling Molly's hand cupping his erection through his trousers. She looked up at him, her eyes bright, her bottom lip between her teeth.

Sherlock's hands moved to the hem of Molly's shirt and pulled the garment up and over her head, revealing a detail Sherlock was glad he had missed in his discomfort earlier: Molly was not wearing a bra. His head dipped to kiss Molly passionately, his mouth quickly moving from her lips, to her neck, then down to nuzzle her breasts. As he nipped and sucked lightly, his hands moved to the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. He pulled the elastic away from her body before pushing the garment to the ground. Sherlock growled once more as his hands sought, but did not find, the waistband to her knickers, connecting instead with the bare skin of her bottom. His hands kneaded the skin as his mouth continued its assault on her breasts while Molly moaned softly in response.

It suddenly occurred to Sherlock that Molly was completely naked before him. He forced himself to take a step away from her in order to properly see her. Molly smiled up at him, then stepped toward him, her hands moving to buttons of his shirt. Sherlock relished the feeling of Molly's small hands moving down his chest, managing to repress the shiver as she unbuckled his belt so she could completely unbutton the shirt. Her hands drifted up to his shoulders to push the shirt from his body when he spoke, "Molly."

Molly stopped and shuddered at the sound of his voice. She looked into his eyes questioningly.

"Molly, you also have to unbutton my cuffs," he said, presenting both of his arms, "Otherwise the shirt will become stuck over my wrists."

Molly smiled and her hands set to work to free his wrists, and finally pushed the shirt away from his body. She leaned forward and kissed his clavicle, then kissed a line down his body as she knelt in front of him. Sherlock exhaled shakily at the sight, his earlier fantasy still fresh in his mind. Molly lowered her gaze and pulled the legs of Sherlock's trousers up, and pushing his socks down to his ankles.

"Lift your foot?" Molly asked.

He obliged, placing a hand on her head for balance. The process was repeated for the second sock, then Molly's gaze focused around his hips.

Sherlock's hips bucked lightly into Molly's hands as she unbuttoned, then pulled the zipper down on his trousers. She gripped the waistband and pulled the trousers to the floor, where once again, Sherlock placed his hand for balance as he stepped out of the legs. Molly looked up again, leaning closer to trace Sherlock's cock through his pants with her nose and lips. Sherlock shuddered at this, a groan escaping his mouth. Molly reached for the waistband of the final piece of clothing between them and pulled down gently. Sherlock stepped out of his pants easily, and Molly pressed a small kiss to the head of his penis before standing again.

"I'll get a condom," she murmured.

Sherlock watched her walk away into her en suite, his cock was throbbing now.

Molly reappeared with a ribbon of condoms, placing them on the bedside table before settling on her bed. Sherlock smirked and strolled over to sit on the edge of the bed. Molly had settled against the pillows, her legs spread and bent at the knees. Sherlock picked up the string of five condoms and tore one from the rest.

He opened the foil package carefully; turning his head, he looked into Molly's eyes as he rolled the condom onto himself. He moved to rest between Molly's legs and kissed her soundly, one hand bracing him, the other working its way toward Molly's centre. Sherlock teased his way toward the place he knew Molly was desperate to be touched, then allowed his fingers to slide into her. He pressed two into her as far as he could, her wetness slicking the way for him, his thumb brushing over her clit. Molly was moaning softly as he pulled his fingers in and out of her, then groaned when he withdrew them completely. Sherlock looked her in the eye as he brought his hands to his mouth and licked her juices from his fingers. Molly's hands went to his hair and pulled him to her for a kiss.

Sherlock kissed her as he gripped his cock to position himself. Molly pulled away when she felt him at her entrance and smiled her consent. Sherlock thrust into, groaning in appreciation of her heated readiness. It was a detail he had deleted, but one he knew he would never let himself forget. Stilling his hips was near agony, but he wanted, needed, Molly to enjoy this as well. Sherlock began moving when Molly's hips began to buck against his own. He leaned down to kiss her as they moved together, Molly's arms kept his face near hers.

Sherlock soon began to feel himself losing control. Molly had wrapped her legs around his body, pushing his thrusts deeper, thus causing Molly to emit the most pleasing whimpers. His hips sped up and Molly's vocalisations became shouts. Desperately, Sherlock pressed his thumb to Molly's clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. He felt Molly come around him, the tightening combined with her moaned 'Sherlock!' sent Sherlock spiraling to his own orgasm. He was vaguely aware of shouting Molly's name as he saw white.

* * *

Sherlock splashed water onto his face and dried off in Molly's en suite. Looking into the mirror he saw all the evidence of Molly – his swollen lips, extremely messy hair, teeth marks along his neck, and what looked like the beginnings of a very impressive love bit under his clavicle. The consulting detective grinned to his reflection and moved to return to Molly.

The sight that greeted Sherlock was one that would forever remain in his mind palace. Molly lay on her back (she really had yet to move) with her legs splayed lazily. Her left arm was covering her eyes as she bit her bottom lip, trying to contain what Sherlock was sure was meant to be a rather stupid grin. She looked utterly spent and giddy, which filled Sherlock with a masculine pride.

He cleared his throat and Molly's arm lowered, revealing a happy smile.

"Hey," she sighed.

"Hello."

"Your phone, I think, is vibrating," Molly said, gesturing lazily to the heap of clothes on the floor. Sherlock bent to retrieve the phone, earning a light swat on the arse. He turned to Molly and smirked before turning his attention back to his phone.

'Where are you? – John Watson'

'Answer me, Sherlock. – John Watson'

'Look, I don't care what you're doing, I just need to know you're alive. – John Watson'

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. Typing a quick reply – 'Not dead, at Molly's, see you tomorrow. SH' – he hit send and dropped the phone back into the pile of clothes. He turned to the bed and climbed over Molly to the side on which Molly did not typically sleep (my side, he thought to himself).

"Staying the night, then?" Molly asked as she cuddled into his side.

Sherlock's arm wrapped around her protectively, "Oh yes, Doctor Hooper" he replied, reaching to pull a blanket over them, "All night, and likely until late afternoon tomorrow."

Molly giggled and kissed his chest, making Sherlock smile. The pair fell quickly to sleep.

* * *

The next day after two more passionate trysts, as well as the equally enjoyable experience of getting Molly off with his tongue and lips, Sherlock was leaving. John had texted several times, and Molly claimed a need for some personal space (of which Sherlock could relate).

Molly kissed him passionately as he turned in the door way, which Sherlock returned enthusiastically.

When he pulled away, Sherlock knew his face was flushed, "So, next Saturday, then?"

Molly grinned and he turned and walked down the corridor toward the stairs.

"At the very least!" she called to him.

Sherlock turned and winked, then continued on his way. He would definitely be remembering Saturdays from now on.

* * *

Well! I hope this did something for you. I'm trying to get back into writing, so I'd really appreciate some feedback or constructive criticism if you've got it! Thanks! xx


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